


The Dancing Girl

by heagon83



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heagon83/pseuds/heagon83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To have been through everything we've been through it is so hard to commit to loving anything. It takes a strong person to give into that desire to love, and to hope for an existence better that what we've had. That is what this baby is…my hope, my hope for 12, my hope for us, my hope for Panem.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dancing Girl

“It’s never going to happen,” I resolve to myself as I sit on the sofa, swollen feet propped up on the coffee table. It was hot….much too hot to be infinitely pregnant. My mother had arrived on the train from District 4 nearly two weeks ago, eager to meet her long awaited grandchild, and the whole house was on edge and waiting.

Yesterday, she suggested going out into the woods in search of herbs known to ready a woman’s body to birth a baby. So, early this morning we ventured shallowly into the woods and we found some berries and leaves before quickly returning home lest my feet actually explode under my enormous weight.

Peeta returns from the bakery in the early afternoon and finds me in the living room. I’m eating elderberries and drinking my 2nd cup of red raspberry leaf tea. He sits on the coffee table across from me and begins rubbing my throbbing foot. His gentle, bread-making hands are magic on my aching soles and I appreciate his eagerness to make me feel better.

“Peeta, always my protector,” I think.

“Anything today?” He gently asks.

Annoyed, I point to my ever engorged abdomen and reply,

“Does it look like **anything** has happened today?”

“I’m sorry.” He replies, selflessly. The kindness in his voice makes me think how he can have so much patience. He must be going just as crazy as I am waiting for this to happen. Then it occurs to me that Peeta must be something of an expert when it comes to patience, at least with me. He had waited 11 years to talk to me, another year and countless near death experiences for me to fully return his love, and when I disappeared into the abyss of depression after my sister……he waited so patiently for me to return. I made him wait another 15 years to have a child, and now he is going to have to wait FOREVER to see his child born, because it is just not going to happen.

“You know,” Peeta says, breaking my chain of thought.

“No one stays pregnant forever; there is an end to this.”

“How can you read my mind?” I ask.

“Practice.”

 

At the dinner table that evening, Mother had prepared a delicious stew that she had poured into a hollowed out loaf of Peeta’s fresh sourdough loaf. It was delicious, but my appetite was waning.

“You aren’t eating much,” Peeta mentions.

“I just don’t feel very hungry. Too many berries this afternoon.”

“Maybe you should try and eat just a little more. Do you want something else? I can make you anything.”

“NO!” I am adamant. “I’m not hungry,” I reply with an heir of frustration in my voice.

“Ok, I just think you need to make sure you are eating enough.”

“I know Peeta, I’m a grown up. I have been feeding myself for some time.” I say, pushing from the table. I walk to the front stoop and sit on the first step with my legs sprawled out in front of me.

It takes Peeta 10 minutes to come outside and check on me.

“I’m sorry.” I say when I hear the front door creak.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He says sitting down next to me. “I’m just scared.”

“You’re scared!” I retort in a tone that is a lot angrier than I meant it to be. I calm down a bit before I finish the thought.

“I am so terrified,” I admit to him.

“Every minute that I don’t feel a hiccup or a stretch inside, it sends me into a panic, and when I do feel movement I’m unraveled and sent into a bloody day dream filled with dead children and chills me to the bone. I am at odds with myself and I can’t escape it.”

I start to sob despite my inner protest.

“I’m so scared, Peeta! What if I can’t do this? What if my life has left me unequipped to love it?” I cry, cradling my stomach. Peeta puts his arm around me and pulls me to him.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He whispers.

“He or she will be fine,” he jokes, correcting my previous statement.

“To have been through everything we've been through it is so hard to commit to loving anything. It takes a strong person to give into that desire to love, and to hope for an existence better that what we've had. That is what this baby is…my hope, my hope for 12, my hope for us, my hope for Panem.”

I kiss him gently, with longing.  
“But, Peeta,” I say, fresh tears pooling in my eyes.

“What if I love her too much and she gets taken from me? Leaving another gaping hole in my heart, I won’t survive it.”

His eyes tear watching me break in front of him and for a brief moment, I see him ponder my revelation. He quickly snaps out of it, and caresses my hair. He lets me heave into him for a moment before he whispers into my ear.

“Hope. Haven’t you learned that hope is so much stronger than fear? No one knows the future, so it is ok to be afraid, every parent is afraid, but don’t let fear hinder love.”

I look into his big blue eyes and I realize he has me pegged. I haven’t allowed myself hope since before the Quarter Quell and for the first time since I learned of the tiny life inside me I imagine what our future would be like…

A child with Peeta’s hope and my fire.

Slowly, a smile spreads across my face and I nuzzle into him. He kisses the top of my head and stands up so he can help pull me to my feet. As we head back inside the house Peeta says,

“So, you think it’s a girl, huh?”

 

Sleep comes surprisingly easy that night. I haven’t fallen asleep so hard and fast since the last time I had sleeping syrup. I awake very achy around midnight and feel really sick. I run to the bathroom and purge until there is nothing left, then clean myself up and waddle back to bed. I don’t go back to sleep so easily this time. My back is hurting and I lay there drifting somewhere between sleep and awake.

Sometime before the sun, I awake to a squeezing of my abdomen, it wraps around to my back and grows in intensity until I am on the brink of pain, and then is slowly releases. I push the sensation from my mind and close my eyes.

I don’t feel the tightening again until after sunrise, and Peeta is already at the bakery. Again, I don't classify it as pain, but it is uncomfortable, so I think I should go downstairs and mention it to mom. When I get downstairs she's tidying up the kitchen, having already prepared some porridge for me, and it was cooling on the table along with some fresh cheese buns that Peeta obviously made for me before he left. I'm still feeling a bit queasy from the night before, but I sit down to eat anyway. I begin to tell her about the strange sensations I've felt twice now.

“It could be the beginning, Katniss. Let’s see if the pains continue. They should start to get closer together if it’s really time, and they will get a lot more painful.”

“Terrific!” I say, sarcastically, but with an heir of excitement.

“Maybe you should take a walk that seems to help bring the pains.”

I decide to walk to the bakery after breakfast. I might as well give Peeta an update.

“Even if this isn't the real thing, at least I will have something to tell him.” I think, as the most intense pain I've had so far sweeps through me.

I arrive at the bakery uncomfortable because I had suffered another pain on the walk. Peeta is in the back when the front door chimes. He appears laden with flour and is happy to see me, until he sees the pained expression on my face.

“Oh my god!" What’s wrong?” he demands, rushing from around the counter.

“No, I’m okay. Mom says this might be IT.” I say with a smile.

“It as in IT, IT?” He yells, yanking off his apron and kissing me passionately. I pull away suddenly as a pain spreads across my middle. He holds me through it, and then we close the shop and walk back home.

That afternoon, I spend my time walking. I walk the halls in our house. I walk outside, piddling around Haymitch’s Geese, careful to avoid the man himself, because God only knows what I would have stabbed him with if he said one thing to me. I think he knows this though, because he doesn't come outside once. Peeta's never far behind, and he holds me as each pain rushes through me. The pains have grown into intensely painful, earth shattering sensations that cause my entire body to quiver in their wake.

After nightfall I find myself in our living room leaning over the edge of the sofa circling my hips, trying desperately to will myself to remain calm despite the war that my body was raging on me.

My mother is solemn. She had spent the day gathering materials that I suppose she would need during the birth. She was quiet, and seemed to keep constantly vigilant of me.

Now she sat in the living room watching me. I begin to moan in pain and she walks over and puts her hand on Peeta’s shoulder.

“It won’t be long now.” I hear her whisper to him.

After I am released by the shackles of agony my mother insists I sit on the sofa. As I begin to walk around to the other side I feel a huge gush of fluid crash between my legs. I vaguely remember watching a similar situation when my mother gave birth to Prim many years ago. I see that it takes Peeta by surprise and he shoots a worried glance to my mother, who nods graciously, telling him that it is alright.

As I sit on the couch, I can feel the pain building once again and I don’t think I can do this sitting in this position, before I can verbalize this I feel all the muscles in my body begin to tense and squeeze. It is a wildly different sensation than I've been feeling for what seems like days, and without realizing it I begin bearing down, growling loudly at the intense pressure.

“Katniss, I need to see!” Mom demanded, prying my legs apart.

“Okay Katniss, the baby is almost here.” She said as the next pain rushed through me and I howled loudly, unable to control the noises I was making.

“I can see the head!” She announced. Peeta, who was kneeling beside me, holding my hand, moved around a bit so he could see.

“Do you want to feel it?” she asked gently.

“NO!” I scream. “I just want it out! Get it out!”

Within moments an unearthly scream erupted from me and I knew at that moment that I was going to rip in half.

“I can’t survive this; people don’t live through pain like this.” I think, and just as suddenly as the thought entered my consciousness the searing pain ebbs and I hear my mother announce,

“The head is out! Don’t push Katniss, just breath.”

I sigh loudly and turn to look to Peeta, whose tears were already staining his face.

The pain builds once again and I attempt to fight my body’s forceful urge to expel my baby from my body.  

“Just breathe.” Mom says again.

“I can’t! I can’t help it!” I snap back at her, and then it was all over. The pain was erased and a tiny cry filled the air.

Before I can register the enormity of the situation, she places this screaming baby on my chest. I look down and see Peeta caressing the dark downy curls atop our baby’s head, and then he’s kissing me. It’s a kiss that holds so much emotion behind it, and I give in to him, forgetting that my mother is in the room, and I kiss him back.

“Thank you.” He whispers into my neck.

“Well, what is it?” I say eagerly.

“I don’t know yet.” He responds, holding back sobs as he looks down on our perfect baby and announces,

“It’s a girl!”

“A daughter,” I thought, not a victim like Prim, or a tribute like Rue. This girl is free to have a life and a future. She will grow without the fear that I lived with as a child. Relief rushes through me as I look down to study my daughter.

She has Peeta’s eyes, kind and blue, Prim’s hands with such long fingers and dainty nails. I also see a bit of my own father in my daughter’s face. As she starts to cry in my arms I begin to sing to her,

               _Deep in the meadow_

_Under the willow_

_A bed of grass_

_A soft green pillow_

 I examine her tiny body for what seems like hours, counting fingers and toes, feeling her dark curls, memorizing the way her skin feels this very moment. I watch Peeta hold her close as he administers her first bath and wraps her tightly in a blanket my mom brought from 4. Annie made it for us and it's beautiful.

We sit together on our bed gazing at the sleeping child, of our creation.

“I don’t think I've ever been this happy before.” I admit

“I know, but you know what I don’t know? What to call her.”

After I ponder on this for a moment I announce,

“I want to call her Willow,”

“Why Willow?” He questions.

“I can’t call her Prim, it hurts too much, but Willow is peaceful. It reminds me of the Valley song, and the lake that I used to swim in with my father. Under the willows it is safe, and calm and beautiful. It makes me feel happy…She makes me feel happy.”

My face heats up as the last word leaves my lips. Happiness seems like an absurd emotion after the lives we've had, the tragedy we've suffered. I look up to ask Peeta what he wants to call her and suddenly I’m aware of being kissed. Before I can return the favor, Peeta pulls back, suppressing a wide smile as he cups my face in his hands, and his voice cracks as he says,

“It’s perfect, Katniss. We deserve some happiness.”

Then he leans down and gently kisses the black curls on top of our daughter’s head.

“I love you, Willow.”


End file.
